𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺|| 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

𝑷𝒕.18

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 18: 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

Harry and I didn't have a very clear idea of how he managed to get back into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was pounding with the conversation he and I had just heard. Why had nobody told us? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, Cornelius Fudge... Why hadn't anyone ever mentioned the fact that our parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them?

Ron and Hermione watched Harry and I nervously all through dinner, not daring to talk about what they'd overheard, because Percy was sitting close by us. When we headed upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find that Fred and George had set off half of a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits. Harry, who didn't want Fred or George asking him whether he'd reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to the empty dormitory and headed straight for his bedside cabinet.

I blinked a few times until quickly following, even though I wasn't allowed in the boys dormitory. I saw him pushing his books aside and quickly found what he was looking for— the leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of our mother and father. He lifted his head up and saw me. He cocked his head, motioning for me to sit down on his bed. I sat down as he sat down besides me, drawing the hangings around us, and started turning the pages, searching, until...

He stopped on a picture or our parents wedding day. There was our father waving up at us, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was our mother, alight with happiness, arm in with our dads. And there...that must be him. Their best man...Harry and I had never given him a thought before. It was until then I realized I had seen this photo before when looking through the photo album Hagrid had given me.

If we hadn't known it was the same person, we would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, and full of laughter. Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture was taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Did he realize he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him unrecognizable?

But the dementors don't affect him, Harry thought, staring into the handsome laughing face. He doesn't have to hear my mum screaming if they get too close—

Harry slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it back into his cabinet, took off his robe, and got into bed making sure the hangings were hiding him and me from view. I laid my back against the headboard while my legs were out in front of me. I was playing with Harry's hair as he was laid down on his bed.

The dormitory door opened.

"Harry? Y/n?" said Ron's voice uncertainly.

But Harry lay still, pretending to be asleep. He heard Ron leave again, and rolled over on his back, his eyes widen open. My eyes shifted over to him, my eyebrows furrowed.